


you shouted 'jump', but my heart faltered

by areyoumarriedriver



Series: Smut All the Episodes [8]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t want to leave her there, what he feels is the overwhelming urge to do something, anything to make it stop. Take away whatever it is that is hurting her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you shouted 'jump', but my heart faltered

**_you shouted ‘jump’ but my heart faltered_ **

He finds her, shivering and crying, sat on a lounge chair by the pool.  The shivering doesn’t surprise him; he has a large fluffy towel in his hands for just that reason. The crying however  _does_  surprise him, so much so that he slides to a halt in the doorway, staring at her in shock.

Her hair is half undone, hanging in a sodden mess over her back and shoulders, and she is shaking – from the cold and from the strength of her sobs. He has never seen her like this, and he feels almost like he should back away, trip over his own overly large feet and run, run,  _run_  back down the corridor, because this feels worse than walking in on her exposed. He shifts nervously, because he knows walking in on her like  _that_ , she would probably laugh it off. This feels more vulnerable.

She’s River Song. And the sight of her crying does  _not_ make him run, but it does twist something within his chest – a pinching sensation he can’t seem to rub away, through his hand is pressed to his own chest in a vain attempt. He doesn’t want to leave her there, what he feels is the overwhelming urge to do something,  _anything_  to make it stop. Take away whatever it is that is hurting her. She’s just leapt off the side of a skyscraper, knowing he would catch her, but he doesn’t think she’d take  _this_ leap as carelessly. He finds himself longing to catch her regardless.

So he slips into the room quietly, wrapping the towel and his arms around her as he sits behind her, pulling her shaking frame into his chest. Her breathing hitches in surprise and she covers her face, her hands scrubbing furiously at her cheeks. She sniffles and he pulls at her until she turns in his arms, pressing her face into his chest. His hands smooth the towel across her back and he shushes her, his arms tightening around her. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is a whisper but it is thick with tears and he turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to her crown.

“Shh. Don’t. Don’t be.” His palms are sliding over the towel and her back repeatedly in a soothing motion. His hands still and he finds himself tracing circles onto her back, writing all the things he can’t quite bring himself to say out loud. The symbols for strength and peace and joy. He hesitates for a moment and traces the Gallifreyan symbol for love over her left shoulder blade. Her hands clutch at his shirt, her fingers wrapping around his braces as she pulls back just far enough to look up at him in shock.

Her makeup is gone – washed away in the pool water – and her hair is a mess. Her face is still red from crying but her eyes are so green he can’t seem to take a breath. He can see tally marks marching up her arm where the towel has slipped. He looks at her, wet and bedraggled and all he can think is she is beautiful. She looks down between them, her eyes on her own hands against his chest and he can study her face even more intently now that she isn’t looking at him anymore. Her mouth is wide and full, and her nose has the slightest bump in the middle – he wonders how that happened.

“I shouldn’t have – you don’t – thank you for the towel.” Her voice is a whisper and she meets his eyes once more and he feels that strange pinching in his chest again but this time it seems to be shooting through him, his arms, his belly, and...  _lower_.

“Are you all ri- is there – can I do anything?” He doesn’t know what to say, what to ask, what to offer her but he knows that if she would just  _tell_  him he would provide it without question.

“It was just a long time, and I don’t remember... not all of it, but –  _oh_  are you alright, Doctor?” Her brow furrows with concern as she takes in his appearance, his longer hair and beard. She reaches up, her hand cold and wet against his skin as she drags her fingers through the beard, her nails scratching lightly. It makes him shiver all over and he leans into the touch, wondering if she feels like the air in this room has grown particularly heavy and difficult to breathe in too, or if it’s just him.

“Me? I was – sat in a chair in a holding facility, River.  _You_  all were – I was worried. About you. All of you.” He is back-pedalling but he won’t look at her to see if she’s caught that. His keeps his eyes lowered, but that gives him the disadvantage (his body seems to argue this point, dropping the dis all together) of staring straight down the front of her dress. He feels himself flush and he looks back upward hastily to meet her eyes.

“Sitting and waiting is far more torturous for you than anything else, sweetie. I know that.” Her voice is still low, but not as thick and she even manages half of a smile at that – her mouth tilting upwards just a touch. He swallows heavily, sliding his hands around to rub up and down her arms briskly.

“We need to get you out of that dress.” He changes the subject, hoping to avoid the topic all together, and her brows go up in surprise, a wicked glint entering her eyes.

“My, my Doctor. Three months on your own really did leave you lonely, didn’t it?” She smiles for the first time, fully, and his hearts leap at the sight.

“It did.” He answers her seriously and her smile falters as she stares at him for a moment, before reaching up to wrap her arms around him as she pulls him into a tight hug. When he pulls back, he looks down at her in what he hopes is a fond manner. He rather doubts he’s managing it, because he certainly  _feels_  like it is less fond and more awestruck. He taps the end of her nose lightly, and she smiles, wrinkling it as she looks up at him. “Come on. You need to change. As do I.” He stands and pulls her up with him, unwilling to let her go really as they wander out into the hall.

Halfway down it, he wonders if her room is near his. Or if she even knows  _where_  it is. Amy and Rory still aren’t even aware of it, but when he reaches his door – she twists the knob and steps through and he’s left to stare at her from the threshold. “River this is my room.”

“I know that, honey.” She speaks calmly and he follows her in, shutting the door behind him.

“But it’s  _my_  room.” He repeats and she rolls her eyes, pulling pins out of her hair and rubbing the towel over it. She drops the towel over the back of a chair and inspects her arms, which are riddled with tally marks, marching one by one across her skin.

“I need clothes, I’ll just grab some and-”

“Why are your clothes in my room?” He frowns and glances around, suddenly noticing things he hadn’t ever noticed before. There are hairbrushes on his dresser, and his sheets are different – a deep blue set cover his king size bed. He didn’t change any of these things. There are new books in the shelves lining his walls. His wardrobe is hanging open, and next to his tweed and shirts he can see a whole slew of multi-coloured clothing that hadn’t been there before. “None of this was  _here_  before.”

She swallows, sucking in a deep breath and looking at him in shock, her skin pale. “It – it wasn’t?”

“No.” He repeats and she sinks down onto the side of the bed, an expression of such pain on her face that he is across the room immediately, arms around her once more. “What is it, River? Is that a bad thing? Is it...”

“How many times have you met me, Doctor?” She turns to him suddenly, her hand clutching his collar urgently.

“I – uh – spoilers?” He says it tentatively, the word feeling foreign in his mouth because it is  _her_  word. She sighs in resignation, releasing his collar and smoothing it as she nods.

“Of course. Of course – I’m sorry. I – of course you can’t say.” But her eyes fill with tears and he looks at her, feeling a hollow ache bloom through his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be – this is so frustrating sometimes Doctor.”

He reaches up, his hand sliding against her cheek, his thumb brushing the tears away as he stares at her. “How do you do it River? You must  _hate_ to see me. This me – I’m young to you and I don’t know anything. And I can’t imagine how that must feel, though I suspect I’ll know one day. You – you are so strong, River.”

She shakes her head in denial. “No, sweetie. I don’t  _ever_ hate to see you. Young, older, this face or any other. I promise. You’re always  _you_.” He drops his forehead against hers and she sighs softly, the puff of air tickling the hair of his beard.

“So my bedroom is your bedroom then?” He finally speaks and she laughs lightly. “You’d think the TARDIS would be a better spoiler-keeper than that.”

“Maybe she’s telling us something.” River’s voice is amused and he finds himself smiling weakly. But River is right. Maybe the TARDIS is trying to tell him something. Only he’s not been listening. Not to any of it – proof River can write Old High Gallifreyan. She can fly his TARDIS, and moreover his TARDIS  _lets_  her. The old girl had called River when he couldn’t be reached. That was the least subtle thing she’d done until today. And now this. This blatant move was akin to his ship slapping him smack in the face with the fact that his life would be entwined with River’s. Like it or not. And he hates to admit it, but he does like it. More than he should.

He lifts his head and stares down at her seriously. “Maybe she is.” River’s eyes meet his and he swallows, his breathing becoming rapid and laboured – had his lungs grown smaller? River licks her lips, and he watches the progression of her tongue as it sweeps across her mouth, his own mouth going dry in response. “River...” He whispers her name even as his head is slowly descending toward hers, his hand on her cheek sliding into her hair as his other hand settles on her hip. Her hair is still wet and tangles around his fingers immediately. The silk fabric of her dress is soaked as well, and he can feel the shape of her hip against his palm and if he closes his eyes, he thinks he could imagine there is no dress there at all. Her eyes darken, and he feels a strange tingle all over his body at the sight, so he does close his eyes, imaging skin under his palm as he kisses her for the first time.

She hums against his mouth, her body leaning into his as he kisses her hesitantly. She slides her tongue along his bottom lip and he opens his mouth in surprise, allowing her to open her mouth under his so she can scrape her teeth against his lip. He shouldn’t have been worried about his own lack of skills at this in this body, he realizes as she snakes her tongue into his mouth and his hands clutch at her tighter, dragging her across the bed until she is flush against him. She is more than skilled enough for the both of them. He hears a low moan, and feels a shiver crawl across his skin when he realizes that the moan was  _his_. He breaks away, short of breath and she leans her weight against him, her own breathing just as laboured. “So the beard is interesting.” She finally speaks and he laughs out loud, having forgotten entirely about the state of his appearance. “Mind, you look like a hobo, but I don’t hate it.” She amends, laughter in her voice.

“I need to – oh that was terrible of me. I need to clean up.”

“Mmm, me too.” She is plucking at her still damp dress ineffectually, and her cheeks are flush with a rosy hue. “I should grab some clothes and go find a free washroom to sh-” He pulls her toward him again, because – because – because he’s tasted her now, and he wants  _more_. His hands slide down over her shoulders, and down the open expanse of skin at her back. He loves this dress, he decides instantly, there is so much of her to touch. Her hands are pulling his braces over his shoulders and he releases her to snake his arms through them before he reaches for her waist again. She is kissing him and he thinks she doesn’t even  _mind_  the beard – she might even like it but he has nothing to compare this kiss to, so he isn’t sure. He grips her waist just as her tongue slides against his and her hands slide up his chest to fumble with his buttons. She moans, deep and low in her throat and he can feel the vibration of sound pass from her mouth to his. It  _does_ things to him, things he can’t even begin to describe, articulate or name.

“River.” Her name is a gasp as she finally finishes with his buttons and her hands slide over the skin of his ribs as he shivers. His own hands slide up along her waist, brushing just underneath her breasts as his mouth leaves hers and he presses a kiss under her jaw. Her head falls back and he has no choice but to brush his tongue against the skin of her throat – he has a burning need to  _know_  if she tastes the same all over. He glances down at his hands and grins. “This dress has a bow! I love it – bowties are cool.” He grins before his hands move upwards, brushing over her breasts and she moans in response.

“It’s your favourite.” He is licking along her clavicle as his hands cup and weigh her breasts intently, his thumb flicking over where her nipples should be as she gasps, her hips jerking toward him. “It’s ruined though.” He is reaching for the zipper at her back even as she speaks, sliding it down, the rasp of metal shockingly loud in the still room.

“TARDIS will fix it, I promise.” He whispers into her skin, and she is pushing his shirt off his shoulders even as he pulls the top of the dress down to hang around her hips. Her skin is soft, smooth and golden against his palms.

“Do you think she can? It’s... important.” She hedges as he presses kisses along the tops of her breasts, just above the cup of her bra. Her hands are in his hair, nails scratching and he smiles against her skin. “I can’t tell you.”

“She can, now come on. Let’s get you  _out_  of it before you catch your death of cold.” He grins against her skin and she laughs deeply. He doesn’t think she  _can_  catch her death of cold. She doesn’t taste human. Not exactly. And he doesn’t know who or what she is, but he’s got a few theories. She stands from the side of the bed, and he slides the dress down until it is a pool of damp silk at her feet. She places her hands against his bare shoulders and he stands in front of her, pulling her against him as he kisses her once more. He is getting better every time, he thinks with pride, because this time it is  _his_ tongue brushing against hers, his hands pulling her against him. She moans when her chest comes in contact with his own, and his hands slide down her back and over her bum as she attempts to pull him even closer. He is walking her backwards toward the bathroom, and her hands are at his waist, opening his trousers and sliding inside with a satisfied groan. His mouth tears away from hers as he gasps, his hands clutching at her hips, fingertips digging into the silky material of her knickers even as they slam into the doorframe.

The lights come on and the shower starts automatically and River laughs. “Oh she’s feeling cheeky today isn’t she?”

“Apparently.” He mumbles into her neck as he toes off his boots and socks and steps out of his trousers. He feels shy and awkward suddenly, but River is grinning, and having none of that. She reaches for him and he dances out of reach. She stills suddenly, a crease between her brows.

“I’m sorry. This is – you’re not used to this are you? I shouldn’t push. I’ll just go.” She moves to walk past him but he reaches for her arms, halting her.

“No I’m – we’ve never done...  _this_. But-” His voice catches in his throat and he looks at her, resplendent in the bathroom lighting, standing there with her head held high and nothing but a champagne lace bra and knickers on, and she is  _gorgeous,_ even with the garish black lines scrawling across her arms and shoulders. His hearts are pounding as she stares at him expectantly, and he can feel his skin buzzing. He thinks about how she’d looked when she’d cried – how he’d felt, knowing that he was more than likely the cause of all that, though she’d not told him yet. If she even would at all. “But I want to.” He finally finishes his thought quietly and she looks up at him with a soft expression. He reaches a hand up and runs it through his hair.

“We don’t have to do anything Doctor – nothing you don’t want. I swear.” He steps into her this time, his hands on the smooth skin of her hips. He feels like he is on a precipice, so he takes a deep breath and tumbles over, his hands smoothing up her back until he encounters the hook and eye closure of her bra. Awkward as he may be with feelings, this is simple mechanics, and he undoes it quickly, his hands moving up her now bared back until he reaches her shoulders. He pulls his palms down her arms, dragging the straps of her bra with him, and he stares down at her in shock.

She smiles patiently and he can’t seem to look up, because the view before him is rather glorious. Her breasts are softly rounded, just the right size – well if someone were asking his opinion anyway – soft, honeyed skin and perky rose nipples that he reaches up to brush his fingertips against. “Gorgeous.” He breathes the word out and slides his palm under her right breast, cupping the weight as his thumb brushes over the peak and she jumps, gooseflesh prickling under his hand and across her chest, shoulders and arms. He grins, his other hand coming up to her other breast as he stares in wonder. “Rather convenient you know. Two breasts. Two hands. Oh but I rather want to touch all of your other bits and pieces too. You know there’s a six-armed species in the Nestria system – I bet it’d be nice to have six arms right about now.” He is babbling, and she shakes her head.

“Oh, shut up.” She laces her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, her mouth open and hot against his as she bites on his lower lip gently and it sends a shock shooting through him.  He pushes his hips into hers, walking her backwards until she hits the wall next to the shower. His tongue is wrapping around hers and she scrapes her teeth against that too and his fingers pinch at the shock and she must like that because she moans into his mouth, one of her legs sliding up over his hip in an attempt to get even closer. His fingers roll over her nipples once more and her hips roll in accordance. He can feel the heat of her core, pressing down on him and he moans, his hands jerking and fumbling, suddenly desperate to touch her everywhere he can reach, all at once. His right hand remains on her breast while his left roams frantically, over her ribs, down to her hip, along the thigh she has wrapped around him.

“Oh god River.” His voice is low and guttural, a tone he’s never even  _heard_  from himself before this very moment. She drops her leg and he whimpers at the loss of contact, but she is pushing him toward the shower, shoving his pants down and sliding her own knickers down over her hips. He stumbles to where she leads him, because he’s lost the ability to do anything else at the moment. The water is warm as it hits his skin from all different directions and River is dropping a folded towel onto the floor of the shower, as he watches her with a frown. “River what are you-” She kneels, her hand wrapping around him as she kisses the tip and his mouth drops open in shock. “ _Oh_.”

She smiles up at him, and the sight makes everything within him go still for a moment before jerking into action. It pulls his hearts five inches lower and sends fire licking through his veins. Her eyes are dark as she looks at his member in her hand, her expression is one of pure wanting and he thinks if she looks this good just  _looking_  at it, he may just regenerate the moment she does anything. She pulls her hand toward his stomach, her knuckles brushing against his groin as her tongue darts out, licking him from root to tip. His hands reach for her hair, because he needs to anchor himself somewhere as he makes inhuman noises at the back of his throat.

She twirls her tongue around the head, dances it over and under and across, and his grip tightens – he doesn’t think he can actually take this. Heat consumes him, it’s like white-hot electric current running under his skin, racing around his body, and then she wraps her tongue around the shaft and swallows him whole. His head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut, because watching and  _feeling_  is just too much. He can’t. He can’t – he can’t do anything but feel the wet heat of her mouth sliding over him, the slight scraping pressure of teeth as she moves her head up and down and he is making strangled noises that can’t quite seem to escape his throat.

And then she  _hums_. Or maybe it’s a moan, but it’s long and drawn out and a vibration all around him and he feels like he may just not make it. His eyes pop open and his hearts are beating so fast that he is shocked he cannot see the tell-tale gold of huon energy swirling around him. Because it  _feels_  like he is going to die. He glances down, because he cannot stop himself, and she has her own eyes closed.  But there is a smile in the lift of the muscles in her cheek and he is captivated by the sight of her lips sliding over his erection as she recedes and surges forward over and over again.  Her hand is gripping him, her thumb and forefingers wrapped around him tightly while her ring and pinky fingers are brushing against his testicles, sending little shivery sensations shooting into his groin. She is leaning forward now, her own lower back arched up and out and her arse is lifted and he releases one hand from her hair to stroke her face as his vision tunnels and darkens – he desperately wishes he could  _touch_  her.

“River,” his voice is a low warning, and she smiles around him, dropping her mouth lower with each stroke until he can feel the back of her throat and he gasps, his hips thrusting forward. “River!” Her eyes open and meet his and suddenly she’s all he can see, her face and her  _mouth_  and her smile and the absolute heat of the lust in her gaze. His grip tightens and he moans and presses his hips forward as the most incredible feelings crashes over him, everything is tight and he feels like his soul is being drawn up expelled out, and she just swallows, her eyes never leaving his until his grip slackens in her hair and he collapses against the cold tiles behind him.

She rises in front of him, and it is unthinking – there is nothing for him to do but pull her weakly toward him, until her skin presses against his and he feels the comfortable symphony of their hearts beating. Something tugs at his mind lazily, but she is leaning into his frame and he is compelled to kiss her, his hands on the sides of her face as she tilts her face below his and he licks at the inside of her mouth, trying to see if she tastes different now.

She does. It is still her but he can taste some sort of essence of  _him_  and it wakes something primal within him. His hands slide down over her back and he cups her arse, hauling her into him and already he is growing hard between them. She moans into his mouth, and his hands slide over the smooth skin of her bottom, around her hip and it is burrowing in between them so he can whisper his fingers along the crease where her hip meets her thigh. Her leg falls open and he pulls his mouth from hers as his fingers reach down to skate along the slick folds. “You’re so wet.” His voice is a hushed whisper and she smiles, pressing kisses along his chest and shoulders as her hands grip his biceps tightly.

“I enjoyed it.” She confesses easily and he feels a thrill shoot through him again as his thumb locates the small bundle of nerves within the slick folds and he circles it twice as she gasps, stiffening and clenching her fingers around his arms. He likes the sound she makes, so he does it again, pressing a little harder this time. She is all silky skin down there, and so warm it makes him moan as his fingers stretch back, dipping into her where she is all rippling muscles and soft heat and hot liquid. His thumb presses harder as his fingers reach deeper and she is panting, little rapid breaths that steal his own. In between the breaths she is whinging, a high pitched noise that is making him  _crazy_. He wants to touch her deeper, discover and map every inch of her,  _inside_. He also wants to press his mouth against her and see what she tastes like. But more than any of these things, he wants to slide himself  _into_  her until he cannot tell her beginning from his end. “River.” Her name drags from his throat and she drops her forehead against his shoulder, easing in closer and suddenly he can reach deeper, much to both their satisfaction. “You feel  _amazing_.”

He is learning her, like a new tool or an undiscovered bit of console wiring. His fingers are exploring, taking note of when he touches her in places that make her breathing alter, and he marvels at the complexity of it all. “Doctor,” her voice is a pant and his thumb brushes across the bundle of nerves, back and forth, as she clutches at him and moans. Just then the whole ship lurches and shudders, and his hands slip from her as he lets his head bang against the wall. After a moment, River looks up at him with a frustrated sigh. “We should go see what’s the matt-” He shakes his head, lifting his fingers to his mouth and darting a tongue out to taste them. The words die in her throat and her eyes darken as he moves forward, licking his fingers clean and backing her into the opposite wall. She is directly in front of one of the nozzles, and he presses himself against her.

“I like it too. The taste. We can – she’ll be fine until we get down there.” His hands drop to her waist and he kneels in front of her, looking up at her pleadingly. His hand grips her hip, and she moans, closing her eyes and pressing her palms flat against the shower wall. He leans forward, stopping himself just inches from the apex of her thighs, and he inhales deeply. He presses a soft kiss to each of her hip bones, and she giggles helplessly above him.

“It tickles.” She looks down at him and he frowns before remembering – oh right. The beard. “Keep going.” Her voice lowers as she gazes down at him, her eyes burning into his. “I want to see how it feels.” He feels a low, tight, heavy tingle spread through his body at her words, and he leans in that extra inch until his nose is buried against her. He lifts his head, brushing against the sensitive nub there teasingly as she moans, one of her hands lifting and sliding into his hair. “I like the length.” She hums pleasantly and he grins just before reaching his tongue out and licking her carefully, letting her taste bloom across his tongue thoughtfully.

She tastes like salt and spice, electric and bright against his tongue, like catching snowflakes, he thinks. Fresh and essential. He licks her slowly and her legs open as his hands pin her hips to the wall. His tongue circles the nub, before he sucks on it lightly, letting his teeth graze against it. She gasps at that, her hand in his hair tightening and yanking his head down even as her hips fight to rise, pressing herself against his face. He slides his tongue inside, and  _oh_  – he thought she’d felt marvellous around his fingers but now – now she is all sinewy muscle that ripples and waves over his tongue. She tastes like a secret – like the answer to the universe and everything within it can be found within her if he just traces the right words inside of her with his tongue. “Oh God,  _Doctor_.” Her voice is hoarse and her head is thrown back. He looks up at her, circles his tongue forty-seven degrees counter clockwise and watches as her shoulders press up into the tile, her muscles in her throat convulsing as she pants, the dusky tips of her breasts jutting out as she arches her back and a flush spread across her skin.

Her taste is changing – tangy and sharp – it makes his mouth water as he presses an arm across her stomach, the other hand releasing her hip so he can slide a hand under her knee and lift it over his shoulder. She begins speaking then – and he is shocked to hear his own language spill from her lips.

She’s not saying much, repeated words he hasn’t heard in  _ages_  spill down over him and he slides his free hand up her thigh, his fingers replacing his tongue. She grinds down against his hand and he licks at her gently, even as his fingers work in and out of her in an increasing rhythm. He sucks that small bundle of over sensitized flesh into his mouth as his hand works at a furious pace. She is moving with him, her hips rising and falling as her words become more and more inarticulate. She is repeating one word now – love, over and over and over again in his dead language. Her fingers grasp and tug and pull and finally he can feel her body go tense as her inner muscles clamp down around his fingers, and he laps at her skin softly, tasting the sweetness of the sudden rush of liquid between her thighs – it drips over his fist and she is panting heavily as he eases his fingers out, still licking her softly.

Unlike him, she doesn’t collapse, but instead drops her leg and reaches down, hauling him up against her as she kisses him with a hunger that feels new. She laughs brightly against his mouth and he grins in response, even as he pulls her away from the wall as he kisses her.  She lets go of him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Turn around.” She speaks in a low tone and he does as she asks, turning his back to her.  Next he feels her hands in his hair, scratching lightly as she massages shampoo into his hair. Once she’s satisfied, she moves her soapy hands down his back, slow sweeping strokes that feel amazing, and he braces one hand against the shower wall with a low moan. She washes his arms, his hips, his legs, before pressing herself against his back and running soapy hands along his chest and stomach.

Her hand brushes against his erection and it jumps, eager for attention as she laughs warmly. She curls warm slippery fingers around him, squeezing tightly and pumping her hand up and down slowly. She releases him just as easily, laughing at his pout and pushing him under one of the sprays as she washes herself too. He rinses off and pushes her hands aside and washes her hair himself, his fingers massaging through the tangled strands with delight. After she’s rinsed, she hands him conditioner and he squeezes some out into her hair, smelling it lightly. “Mmmm. This is what you always smell like. Not that you  _smell_  but – I like it.” He runs his hands through her hair as she laughs, tilting her head back to rinse.

“Well thank you sweetie,” she murmurs and as soon as her hair is rinsed he is wrapping his arms around her, pinning her back against the cool tile, his mouth against hers and his erection trapped between them. She’s washed every single black mark off, counting under her breath as she did so, and he didn’t think it was possible, but she looks even  _more_  beautiful like this – unmarked, and  _whole_. And  _his_. He knows that now, recognizes it when she looks at him, tastes it in the way she kisses him. Like she knows – every little thing about him, and she does. And one day – he’ll have to tell her, but not today. Today it is easier, it is his hands pinning her down and loving her the only way he can right now.

And that too is a lie, he knows, because his hearts nearly beat out of his chest until he caught her, falling through the sky earlier. She told him he’d always be there to catch her. He knows she’s right because the alternative is unthinkable. She pulls away, her hands threading into his hair as he pushes her up against the wall, gripping her hips as her legs wrap around his hips for leverage.

She’s still hot, and so so wet against him, and he closes his eyes in concentration, stilling when he is just brushing against her entrance. He slides against the slippery folds, teasing her and she moans, the hand in his hair pulling none too gently. “Doctor...” Her voice is a whinge and he grins against the skin of her throat, his mouth dragging down across her chest. She arches her back, trying to find purchase to get above him, but he simply pins her hips in place, still sliding against her in frustratingly slow strokes, taking a nipple in his mouth as he finally lifts her up and pushes into her and she lets out a satisfied sigh. “Oh, my love.”

She pulls his mouth from her breast and looks down at him, her eyes dark. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is wet, slick and long and still somehow kinked with curls. “You are so gorgeous.” He breathes the words out as his hips draw back and surge forward again and she smiles down at him.

“Oh you beautiful idiot.” She brushes a hand against his cheek before she kisses him, long and slow and completely at odds with the frantic movement of his hips against hers. She feels exquisite, all hot silk wrapped around him and such delicious  _friction_. He can’t think, can’t do anything but stroke his tongue against hers slowly, licking and biting at her bottom lip – because her lips are one of his favourite features of hers, he decides. So full and soft and begging for exactly what he is doing to them. His hips slow their movement, his strokes becoming slower and deeper as he twists his hips at the end and she emits a squeak that makes him smile against her mouth.  “Doctor.” Her mouth tears away from his and her voice is urgent. Her hand tightens in his hair and she slides her other hand down between their bodies, touching herself as his pace picks up again.

Something about that – the fact that she feels no shame in helping herself along makes everything within him tighten, coiling and coiling, tighter and tighter. “ _River_.” His voice is a warning and her hand moves against her own clit more frantically, as his tempo becomes more sporadic, trying to hold back his own orgasm. The edges of his vision darken and her hand is flicking back and forth frantically. He looks down at her, until his eyes are level with hers. “Lose control for me sweetheart, come on – please, please, please, you are so glorious, you feel so amazing, just let go for me. Let me love you, River.” Her eyes widen and she drops her head with a cry, and he can feel her orgasm undulate through her whole body, until it reaches where he is buried within her and he comes with a shout, pushing into her like he can find some secret if he goes just that much further.

He thinks he must have blacked out, because when he looks up they are tangled in a heap on the shower floor, water spraying in their eyes as she smiles down at him from his lap. “Are you alright?” Her voice is husky and he shivers at the sound of it.

“No. No I am never going to be alright again. But wait – I will be because we are definitely doing  _that_  again.” Her laughter is warm and she presses a soft kiss to the top of his head before she untangles herself from him and stands. She holds a hand out to him and he lets her pull him up, and even though he is sated fully, he cannot seem to stop touching her, his hands stroking along the skin of her back and hips and stomach as they rinse off. He presses a kiss to her shoulder and she smiles at him softly.

The shower turns off and she reaches outside for towels that they wrap themselves in before stepping out of the stall. She grabs a second towel for her hair, rubbing it dry as he pulls her toward him and kisses her gently. He wants to thank her somehow, but even  _he_  knows that would be the exact wrong thing to say. “Come on, we need to get dressed.” She grins, and runs a hand against his face. “Pity about the beard – but we can shave it when we have a moment.”

“I thought you liked the beard?” He grins at her as they re-enter the bedroom and she laughs and shakes her head.

“I didn’t mind it – certainly a new sensation, but you  _need_  to shave.” She laughs and he grins ruefully, running a hand through his hair.

“And a haircut.” Her smile falters and slides off her face as her gaze softens and she runs her fingers through his longer hair.

“I like it long. It reminds me-” She stops herself, swallowing and smiling up at him. “Spoilers, sorry. But I’ve always loved it longer.”

“Happy memories?” He asks hopefully and she smiles, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“The happiest my love.” She kisses him once more and he nods over her shoulder when he pulls back.

“Look at that.” Her dress is hanging from the wardrobe door, fully intact, clean and dry. She lets out a choked sob, before moving over to it, looking up in awe as she strokes a hand against the wall next to the wardrobe.

“Oh  _thank you_  darling.” He somehow knows she is not talking to him, and the TARDIS vibrates in reply, high pitched and rolling, like she enjoys it. This woman and his ship – he wonders sometimes, and adds some things to the ever growing list of facts about River Song he is compiling in his brain.

“Is that why you were crying earlier? Over a  _dress_?” He is teasing her of course, but she tenses and he knows he’s touched a nerve. His hands slide over her shoulders and he pushes her hair to one side, pressing an apologetic kiss against the side of her neck. “I’m sorry, River, I was only teasing. Is it  _that_  important?”

“You’ll find out.” She promises him with a smile, turning in his arms and wrapping her own arms around his shoulders.

“I look forward to it.” He promises and she smiles brilliantly, the apples of her cheeks rounding.

“You always do, my love.” She kisses him quickly and pulls back with a grin and a heady promise in her eyes. “You always do.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
